Blackboxes
by planet p
Summary: Who says robots can't have feelings, too? Dent/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Blackboxes** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _Code Name: Eternity_ or any of its characters.

* * *

It must have been about four in the afternoon, the sky a cloudy grey, complete with icy cold sheeting rain, but all that Sibel Kirkland knew was that it was the end of the world: the end of her world. Her four-year-old daughter, her precious child, Ally, had just died.

She stepped out of the hospital and didn't get even to the sidewalk before she fell to the concrete, but she didn't feel any pain: the pain in her soul eclipsed all of that. A parent should have been able to protect her child, and she was the only parent Ally had known; she'd never known her father, he'd left Sibel before Ally had even been born. But Sibel had lived; she had lived, from that day on, for Ally; to be Ally's mother. And now Ally was gone.

It didn't matter that she was hardly dressed for the weather, that she wore a ridiculously bright summer dress, or even that she was, by then, soaked to the bone. She didn't even feel the rain. Hot tears streaked her face, not the rain. The rain didn't even exist.

She sobbed.

Nobody stopped. Maybe it was the weather, the driving rain, maybe not. Sibel's tears continued; horrible, wretchedly loud, scene-causing tears, yet there was no scene, just a woman crying alone in the rain.

Crazy woman, hey?

To all of those people rushing about under their umbrellas, rushing somewhere - who knows where - Sibel knew she was nothing more than an unnecessary complication. Someone might have stopped, but no-one wanted the complication. Especially when it was raining as it was. Such an inconvenience.

* * *

It had started to rain sometime after four, which was when he'd last checked his watch. People were so predictable, so boring. He was bored already, and he'd only been at the café for twenty or so minutes. He hadn't touched a bit of his coffee, but he'd gotten it so as not to look out of place, so as to blend in. Stupid people, how easily they could be placated, how easily they could be assured that nothing was wrong.

Or maybe they knew things were wrong, all around them, everyday, but it was just easier to say, 'It's not my business.' Easier until it was there, in their faces, in their front yard, in their homes.

He didn't sigh, as someone might in thought, but merely continued to watch these people. He was not, after all, human. He wasn't really anything. He wasn't even really alive; not really.

Across the street, through the rushing cars, he saw a woman step out of the hospital, come down the steps, and fall to her knees. She was crying, he supposed.

Though people continued to pass, and to come up and down the steps, not a single person stopped to ask why she was crying, if something was the matter. If anything, they avoided her. Embarrassed, offended... he wasn't sure; he didn't care.

_Silly woman_, he thought. _Get up. You're making a fool of yourself, can't you see? No-one is going to stop for you; you frighten them. Don't be so needy; if you reveal your neediness straight out like that, no-one's going to want anything to do with you._

_Well, save perhaps for the cops_, he thought, trying to suppress a smile. Why that was amusing, he wasn't sure. He was not a person, he was a robot, for lack of a better term, and a robot was not supposed to have a sense of humour, was it?

Still, why should he not smile? What a silly woman!

He smiled.

Silly.

* * *

Sibel wiped away her tears, though more came almost immediately. Or perhaps that was the rain. With a sudden clarity, she stood. She knew what needed to happen now, what she had to do. For Ally. Ally might have been gone - they all might have said she was dead - but Sibel knew that she would never stop being Ally's mother.

"I'll be with you soon, my baby," she whispered softly, and the rain took away her voice.

She walked toward the road, and she began to smile. She would be with her child soon, then she would take her hand and they would face whatever came next together; as a family.

Then, she remembered Ally's favourite song, and she began to sing; so Ally would know it was alright, and not to be afraid.

As she drew closer to the road, to the speeding vehicles flashing by like colourful fish in a county stream, she even began to feel happy, to feel freer; her steps became lighter. She was so happy.

And then, there was Ally. Made of rain and smiling, holding out her hand. Just across the road.

"Ally."

* * *

He leant forward in his chair, narrowing his eyes. Now what was the woman up to? She was surely mad, he thought, _look at her. Just look._

She was smiling now, and it made him wonder if she'd seen his amusement and was saying, 'Hey, stuff you, man - I get the last laugh, not you!' _Robot_, he felt like mouthing, but that wasn't likely given that she wasn't even looking at him. In fact, she was talking now. Or... singing.

Leaving his coffee untouched, he got to his feet. What was this about, then? Why was she singing? Was she really mad? How interesting.

He caught the direction of her gaze and looked there, too, but there was nothing there, no-one there, though, the woman was clearly looking there, right there.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, out loud, then wondered why he'd done so. It wasn't as though the woman could hear him from across the street, or as though, if she had been able to hear him, he would have been terribly interested to hear her reply.

He watched her draw closer to the road, walking slowly but meaningfully, with purpose and surety, but when he expected her to slow, or reach for the crossing button, she did not.

_You really are mad!_ he thought, then he frowned, as though trying to will his thoughts across the space between them.If she killed herself, she'd ruin his whole afternoon. It had been uneventful, so far, that was true, but today, he'd been perfectly content with peaceful; he could live with the slight annoyance of that.

And really, she seemed fine. There was no reason whatsoever for her to kill herself, for her to throw her life away like that. If he'd been alive, he thought, he might have had a little more consideration for his mortality. Life was a gift, after all.

And a gift, it seemed, he was unworthy of.

And this woman was willing to throw hers away without a second thought.

_Oh, no!_

* * *

This was the end; the credits were about to roll and she could even hear the ending theme, a pop song by Ishtar Alabina, she fancied. A bright, joyous song to end the whole show; to give the audience a glimmer of hope, of happiness.

She quite liked the song, actually, she thought. It was a good song. 'Can you hear it, too?' she wanted to ask Ally, but maybe Ally could. She was smiling; she wasn't in pain anymore, she wasn't scared anymore.

_I'm almost there_, Sibel thought, and stepped onto the road.

* * *

The woman flew back onto the pavement with a thud that might have been hard enough to knock her out, but, no, a second later, she was screaming like she was being murdered. _Mad_, he thought dryly. The mad woman then proceeded to struggle, trying to finish the job, he supposed.

A group of teens in colourful raincoats who might have been high school girls had stopped to watch out of mild curiosity.

He ignored the teens. The woman was pounding her fists on his chest as though she thought he might take offence and think, _If this is what I get for my efforts, go ahead!_ He was already wet, so what was the difference if he got wetter. Because a bit of rain was such an inconvenience. Maybe to someone who was actually _alive_.

The woman stopped struggling, finally, and he almost sighed - wouldn't that have been anyone else's response?

Almost.

The woman sunk her teeth into his arm, and, in the time it had taken him to frown, the woman had pushed him off her and was back on her feet.

The teens shook their heads at him: Oh, he was effective. That much was evident.

'What would you know!' he felt like hissing. 'I don't see you doing anything!' Or perhaps they were waiting for the woman to finish it; perhaps it was the spectacle that interested them, just like it drew people in droves to the picture theatres.

_Isn't that sick?_ he thought, standing and seizing the woman around the waist, to much screaming and kicking and scratching.

_Give it up, woman!_ he thought. He was tired of her antics, already. But he supposed he was the only one to blame that he'd gotten himself involved, and now he couldn't exactly let her go without implicating himself. 'Why'd you let her go, huh?' 'Ah, she was getting to be rather annoying; I thought, Just let her do her thing. Did I do something wrong?' 'Mmm...'

"Do you want to die?" he shouted. He didn't expect the woman to see reason, much less to listen to anything he had to say, but, for some reason, she froze. _Is that it?_ he wondered. _Can I go now? Has she seen what she'd really be throwing away? Has she scared herself enough, and now she's decided to back down; to take the humiliation but live?_

The woman spun around, standing, now, too close, but things like that didn't get to him; he wasn't alive, he wasn't even human. He wasn't that easily intimidated. It struck him though, that her hair hadn't moved the way it should have; it was heavy with rain, shiny black. It was very long; she must have cared for it, for what it did for her image; how long did it take to keep it looking as nice as it did each day, free of tangles?

She didn't have an angry glint in her eye, and if she had any life there, any shine, that was just the rain. "Do you?" she breathed, and it was so without emotion that it felt... wrong.

Then she spun back around, slipping easily out of his hold.

The strangeness of it all, the sheer stupidity, perhaps, had finally gotten to him, and now, it had made him slack. If he'd just accepted it, if he hadn't tried to work it out, then he'd not have let her go; he'd have held fast no matter what.

One of the teens put a hand over her mouth, another turned away, one stared with wide eyes. If he'd had a heart, it might have stopped.

He didn't.

He reached for the woman, but she was out of reach.

_Oh, shit!_ Those kids were never going to forget this, were they?

He reached again, and found purchase on her arm, yanking her back from the path of a fire truck just in time. (_In this weather?_

_A real hero, huh? Thought I'd let her pull a trick like that, huh, kids? Couldn't let her hold up the authorities; there might be lives at stake._)

It may only have been a second - the teens must have still been freaking out - but suddenly she'd spun back around and it occurred to him that he might have grabbed her arm a little less harshly; he didn't want to knock them both unconscious, after all. Or just her.

_Hey, there's an idea._

But he'd already reached out his free hand to grab her arm. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! It's not a game, Dent!_

Tears filled her eyes like magic; foiled again!

Perhaps he'd been the one spending too much time watching television, and it had subtly worked its way into his... software... but he leant closer and pressed his lips to hers.

It must have felt like she'd been slapped, but he felt exactly the same way. _What the Hell?_

He stepped apart from the woman in a flash, but didn't let go of her arms. Thinking fast, he said the first thing that occurred to him to say: "You bit me."

But he wasn't thinking about that, instead he was thinking, _She's freezing cold. How can a living being be so cold?_

The woman burst into tears, prompting him to hold her arms tighter. There was no way she was getting away again, he'd made enough of a fool of himself for one day.

One of the teens had strode over and was holding her cell phone out in front of her as though it was a weapon. "Do you want me to call the cops, lady?" she shouted. "What are you playing at?"

"Fuck off!" the woman sobbed.

The teen looked gobsmacked, then she huffed angrily. "No, fuck you, bitch!" she spat, crossing her arms and stalking back to her friends. "Crazy fucking bitch!"

"Come on, now," Dent told the woman. "You're causing a scene."

"Get the fuck off me!" she screamed, attempting, without success, to pull her arms from his hold.

"Bite me," he replied.

The woman laughed bitterly, choking on her tears. "You didn't get enough the last time, huh?" she hissed.

Obviously, that had been the wrong thing to say, he thought, kicking himself for having forgotten _that_ already. If he'd been a person, it would have really hurt. "Actually, I find a certain aggression in a woman sexy."

"You sicko!" she spat; her disgust now written all over her face. The teary eyes made it worse.

"I'm the sick one, now? You don't see me throwing myself into the traffic for all the world to see, gore and all, but I'm the sick one?"

"My life has nothing to do with you!" she screamed.

"Now, that isn't true," he lied. "The moment I saw you, I knew you were the one. I knew you were my angel. I couldn't let you do it."

The woman tugged on her arm, to no avail. "Let-!" She scowled. "There's no such thing as angels, you lunatic!"

"If I choose to believe in angelic beings, I believe that is my choice, is it not?"

"Let me go, you idiot!" she growled. "I'm not going to do anything now!"

He'd have put a hand over his mouth, but he was holding the woman's arms. "How can I trust your words?" he asked, frightened by his tone and the smile that had crept up on him, turning his mouth suddenly in a smile.

The woman sniffed. "I'm tired," she whispered, too tired to shout, and sagged a little.

"It's raining," he told her, "and you're like ice." _Don't say another word! Not another word!_ "I'm not surprised."

She fell against him. "I'm sorry. My daughter just died."

_Let this be the end_, he thought. _Let me hail her a cab, and let it be over._

The woman gathered her strength to straighten and lift a hand to his cheek. "You, too," she whispered, and stood a little taller on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "Thank you."

He took his hands from her arms and watched her step backward and duck her head for a second, looking to the ground, for only a moment. When she caught his eyes again, a small smile graced her features.

She passed him without another word, and he stood in the rain for too long, not daring to turn and look to where she'd gotten off to, not daring to say anything, much less, 'Goodbye and good luck.'

He closed his eyes, and when he turned around, finally, the woman was nowhere in sight, just as if she'd been nothing more than a dream.

He gave a heavy sigh, and smiled. Then he walked back to his car.


	2. Chapter 2

The nightclub was loud, as he'd known it would be, and, at first, he didn't recognise her. She could have been one of many, just another human. But then he remembered.

She looked... not exactly happy today, but there was something in her eyes that hadn't been there that day. Life, perhaps? A willingness to live? He tried to back away, then, to leave, but her eyes invariably caught his, and she stilled.

For ten seconds, or eleven, she stood just like that. Very still, as though catching sight of her prey, or as though she'd just noticed a predator coming towards her and hoped by staying still it would lose interest and move on.

He didn't move. What reason did she have to recognise him, after all. He'd been the one who'd stopped her from killing herself, shouldn't she have been forgetting him as soon as possible? Shouldn't she have been erasing the whole incident from her memory. _I was not weak. I was never weak, or too tired, or too hopeless._

When she started towards him, he almost stepped back. If he'd have been thinking right, he'd surely have done just that. He wondered, was he afraid? Was that it? Fear?

The woman stopped a couple of steps away. "I didn't think you'd be one for nightclubs," she said. "Fetish clubs, perhaps..." She grinned. (It looked strange; he hadn't seen it before.) "I'm teasing. Do you drink?"

He stared without comment. Just couldn't say anything. What did it make any difference that he'd never seen her smile like that before, or not?

She leaned closer, her beautiful, long black hair swishing by her arms. "Alcohol?" she said, not as loudly, but with a laugh in her voice.

He frowned, and asked, "Are you offering?"

Her grin became a smile and she put up a hand and touched his cheek.

The familiarity her smile assumed, and the touch of her fingers, warm and just a bit sweaty, made him want to slap her hand away, take her arms and shake her. Maybe hiss, 'Do you want to die? Or are you just playing this time?'

He lifted his hand and took hold of hers.

"I'm Sibel," she said; just like that, out of the blue.

Why had he grabbed her hand? _You fool!_ he thought. He let go of her hand and pulled her to him. Her heart beat very fast. He leant to speak into her ear. "Sibel, I don't want a drink," he said. "I want you." Maybe she'd turn and run like she'd never run before; maybe she'd scream that he was putting the moves on her inappropriately and he'd be turfed out. _Oh, please! Please, yes!_

"I'll be here until closing," she whispered, in his ear. "There's no need to rush things." Her hands, small and hot and shaking just a little, found his and held them. "Dance with me," she breathed, stepping apart from him and taking his hands with her.

For a moment, he might have been hurt - crushed, even - but the moment passed in a flash. So that hadn't worked; he needed another plan.

_I've got one_, he thought abruptly. _Turn and leave. How's that for a plan?_ That's when it struck him that perhaps a small part of him liked the pretence, the pretence of being... alive, of giving a damn, or having feelings... of having feelings for someone.

He frowned, straightening, and shot a short suspicious glance to his left as though disputing himself. "I don't dance," he told her.

Sibel smiled and bit her lip. "I could... teach you," she offered.

He laughed.

She laughed, too. "Don't you trust me?" she asked.

"Trust _you_, Sibel? Oh, I don't think you should be the one worrying whether or not I trust you... You might spare a thought to whether _you_ can trust _me_?"

Sibel stepped closer to him, barely a hand's span between them. "I trust you," she breathed.

"Shall I demonstrate my trustworthiness?" he whispered.

She smiled. She didn't think he'd do anything bad to her, not after he'd gone to all the trouble of saving her.

He placed his hands on her arms, and, slipping them from her arms, he ran one hand down her side slowly and brought the other round to slide down her back, following the contour of her spine. When his hands reached the small of her back, he pulled her to him. She was so close that he could count the beats her heart took. "Do you trust me now?" he breathed roughly, locking his eyes with hers.

"Yes," she murmured.

He let one hand slip lower, to rest on her bottom. "And now?"

Her lips curved into a smile. "Yes."

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. What was he going to do now? _Think!_ he told himself silently, cupping his hand around the curve of her bottom.

"Dance with me," Sibel breathed in a low voice, her breath brushing his cheek.

He snapped his eyes open.

Her mouth curved into a smile and she began to sway her hips, smiling wider as she did.

He watched her without moving, not a smile in sight. He took his hands from her body, and she caught them in her own.

"Touch me," she told him. "Put your hands on me. Caress me. Make me feel good, and I promise you'll feel good, too." She guided his hands to her hips, and rested them there, and spun away from him, shooting him a secret glance, back over her shoulder. "Touch me."

He moved his hands slowly up her sides.

"Let me feel your hands on me," she whispered, swaying to the music he wasn't even listening to anymore. She slid her hands up to cover his. "Make me want them there, as though they're my own. Make me know them, and I'll be yours."

He slid a hand across the silky material of her dress, caressing her stomach for a moment, before letting it slide lower, to her thigh. She shivered, but didn't pull away. His hand found the hem of her dress and he moulded his hand to the shape of her bare thigh, sliding his hand higher slowly as he caressed her stomach with his other hand.

She had a small tummy, it's muscles not as tightly toned as they might have been. If he'd believed in the notion of cute, it would have been totally cute.

Reaching halfway along her thigh, he pushed his hand back along her hot, shaking skin, the hem of her dress lowering once more.

She turned her head and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "Now I know I can trust you," she whispered, short of breath.

He dropped his hand from her leg, and the other from her middle. Taking her arms, her turned her to face him gently. He placed his hand on her bottom and squeezed it, pulling her against him and slipping his leg between hers to be closer to her. "Is that the case?" he said.

"Oh, shit!" she swore.

He fought the urge to frown and cupped a hand to the back of her head, pulling her face closer to his and kissing her with a passion that truly frightened him. "Shit can't save you now," he whispered, against her lips. "No-one can." Then he stole her breath.

* * *

Sibel's laughter was clear in the chilly night air, despite the roar of traffic close nearby. He carried her in his arms as though she was the damsel in distress, and he'd come to save her. _Sure. Save her_, he thought.

He thought of dropping her to the ground and walking away, but he'd gotten used to the weight of her, the warmth of her. Even the sound of her giggles was an intrigue to him that, by the minute, became more and more familiar, something to cherish. Perhaps he was just good at the game, he thought, chalking it up to an answer that, with all things considered, was a comfortable one.

The parking lot where he'd left his car hours ago wasn't particularly well lit, but he had no trouble finding his way to the car. The moonlight was weak with the city's perpetual screen of pollution, but perhaps a little of the moon's rays made it through that gloom.

Reaching the car, he managed to unlock it and pulled open a back door. Sibel dropped her head to glance behind her, then lifted it again to meet his eye. "Oh, that's kinky, you monster!" she laughed.

"Ye of little faith," he breathed.

He set her down on the backseat and got in after her, pulling the car door closed.

She shifted along the seat and frowned. "Nice car." She grinned. "I think your car may have moved in for the kill and stolen my heart already."

"Hmm... I never did like this car," he told her, mock seriously.

She took his hand and pressed it to her chest, above her heart. "Still there?"

He got close to her and slid his hand around to rest in the inward curve of her back. "Not for long," he breathed, into the side of her neck, and pressed a kiss there.

* * *

She wrapped a bare leg around his and breathed a heavy sigh. "You're not married, are you?"

He stilled, on top of her. "What?"

"Are you?" she asked.

"What does it matter?"

"It matters to me," she told him, tracing a circle on the back of his thigh with a thumb.

"No, Sibel, I am not married. Are you?"

"No."

"And I can trust you on that?"

She pinched his leg; not hard, but a pinch nonetheless. "If I can trust your word, then you can damn well trust mine," she told him, and gave a sharp jerk when he pinched her bottom. "You are so going to regret that," she said.

He laughed, pushing up the hem of her dress, and bent to kiss her stomach.

She rolled her eyes.

* * *

Sibel moaned and tightened her legs around him. She might have said more, but, just then, her vocal cords wouldn't agree, no matter what she told them. She arched her back and let out her breath.

She opened her eyes.

Dent was watching her in a manner she quickly deemed fairly odd, given the circumstance. "Sibel, are you okay?" he asked.

"Sibel?" she asked blankly. "Who's Sibel?"

When he didn't laugh, she planted a hand on his chest and gave him a light shove. She laughed. "I'm joking," she told him. "But I'm not okay." She dropped the smile and put on a serious face. "I'm fucking great!" She grinned. Her smile fell away. "Aren't you?"

He smiled. "Yeh. Sure."

She touched his cheek, running her fingers over it. "Sure?" she asked.

"Sure thing."

"I haven't... pushed you into all this too fast?"

"You're not the one pushing me into anything, hon," he assured her, and smiled, drawing her closer in one swift movement and kissing her. "That's me. I'm the monster here."

"Be a happy monster," she murmured, kissing his ear.

"I-"

She kissed his lips. "You what?" she asked, sliding her hands down his chest.

"I am happy."


	3. Chapter 3

Sibel hadn't brought her car to the club, she'd called a taxi, so she had no car to take back home, no car to drive home in.

He offered to drive her himself, but she politely declined. "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that," she said, fiddling with a buckle on a high heel.

He glanced out the window, deliberately not meeting her gaze when he spoke. "Sibel, it would be the right thing for me to do."

"I understand," she said, still fiddling with her shoe rather than looking at him.

He said nothing. Give her time to talk.

"I'm not... I haven't anyone waiting back home for me. Husband, or... boyfriend. I didn't lie to you. And I'm not ashamed of where I live. It's nothing like that. I just... If you drop me off home, I'll want you to stay," she abandoned her shoe, for a moment, and glanced at the car's digital clock, "and it's late."

"Would that be so bad?" he asked, looking around at her and reaching for her chin to turn her face to his. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip. "Sibel?"

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she dropped her gaze to her lap. "I don't even know your name," she said.

"That's easily solved," he replied. "If that's all that's-"

She pressed a hand to his chest. "It's not." She sniffed. "I think you're great but... I don't know if I'll be able to control myself to... to do the right thing by you. My daughter's just died, darling. Forever, she was in a coma - because of me! Because of me, and that stupid car. If I allow myself to attach myself to you now, I'm afraid I'll stifle you. Suffocate you."

She looked at him. "It wouldn't be fair."

He took his hand from her chin and touched her shoulder, squeezed her arm. "I'll call you a cab," he said. He let go of her arm and looked around for his cell phone.

Sibel collected her shoes, leaning her head against the back of the headrest. When he'd called the cab company, Sibel sat up properly and looked at him.

He handed her some money. "For the fare?"

She shook her head, and, slowly, mustered a smile. "You may need it... for the therapist."

He smiled back. "No chance, darling."

She leant closer and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you. For not being a bastard. You're not a monster, really. I'm sorry to have done this to you."

"I did it to myself. And I loved every minute of it. Sibel? Promise me you'll stay well?"

She tilted her head, and bent to rest her cheek on his shoulder. "I will."

He turned his head to kiss her hair. "I trust you."

* * *

He watched the cab's light disappear into the night and opened the car door. Getting in, he slammed it after him and sat quietly for a moment or two, then wound down the window to let in some cooling night air, though it was more freezing than cooling.

He leant and switched on the radio for no particular reason.

He shot a glance to the backseat. _Oh, right!_ He'd almost let it slip from his memory. _Awkward fumblings on the backseat..._ He smiled.

Then stopped. _Bloody machine, playing at being alive!_ How fucked-up was that? He didn't think there were words for that level of fucked-up, actually!

He slapped himself loudly across the face. _Bad robot!_

Then he started the car, and grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

"That reporter, I want her taken care of," Banning told him. "Get it done."

She'd taken some photographs of him in association with persons he'd rather not be publicly associated with, and was now blackmailing him to pay up the big bucks, or suffer the consequences of public exposure of his business connections. She was a pain-in-the-ass, and she'd soon be a dead pain-in-the-ass.

_No further incentive needed_, Dent thought.

Jennifer Stephenson was attending her high school reunion that Saturday, and Dent intended on catching up with her then, when she'd be where he'd be able to find her, minus the running around and excessive time-wasting.

Maybe he wouldn't even hurt her. Much.

* * *

Before the reunion, he took time to research the woman: her connections, if she paid her bills on time, who her doctor was, what car she drove, the movies she rented, what she liked to eat, her friends, her enemies...

The reunion wasn't hard to crash; the music, on the other hand, was almost an incentive against crashing. Jennifer was dressed tastefully, all the better to flaunt the fact that she, unlike some others, had _made it_ in life.

Dent found somewhere to sit, somewhere from which he'd be able to monitor her movements and choose the right moment to act.

Jennifer was chatting with a group of three women by the bar when one of her friends - Denise; Denny to her friends - nodded across the room.

"Quirkland," Jennifer observed, dryly. She folded her arms over her chest.

All three women with her followed suit.

_Lemmings_, Dent thought.

"I thought for sure she wouldn't show," Denise remarked, drawing the gazes of her friends. She threw up her hands. "Ack! She's not only a... how do you say _whore_, but nicely?"

There was a quiet whisper Dent couldn't make out, from Helen. "Excuse me," Denise continued, "Run-around Sue! But," she coughed, "a _child killer_! And _that_ is unforgivable!"

"I'm amazed she wasn't charged with negligence or something and sent away," Wendy agreed.

"So true!" Helen replied. "Home-wrecker!"

Jennifer shot them shushing looks and they fell silent. "What was her kid's name again?" she asked, snapping her fingers.

"Adam. I think," Wendy replied.

"Adam is not a _girl_'s name, Wendy!" Denise told her, shaking her head. "It was Ally."

"Well, it was 'a'-something," Wendy said, receiving a dirty look from Denise.

"Why?" Helen asked, suddenly. "Why's it matter what her kid's name is?"

"Why does it matter?" Jennifer mimicked, her tone clearly saying she thought Helen thick.

"Why?" Helen said, again.

"Because if you're going to fuck someone's evening, it's a good idea to get your facts straight first, _Helen_! For instance, _genius_, her grandmother was _Turkish_, not _Pakistani_!"

"Guys, let's not bring this shit up again," Denise cut in, and Wendy nodded her agreement of that idea.

Helen scowled. "I don't even know how they _let_ you become a reporter," she hissed. "Your people skills _fail_!"

"What the fuck did you say?" Jennifer spat.

Denise stepped in between the women. "Chill out! Both of you!"

"What a slut!" Jennifer scowled.

"Hag!" Helen breathed.

Denise made a girly screaming noise. "Isabel! It's been too long!"

"Sibel," the woman corrected, unenthusiastically.

"Sybil." Denise blushed, shooting her friends deadly looks when Sibel looked away to read a menu card.

The woman in the corduroys and teddy bear cardigan was indeed Sibel, Dent noted, belatedly. Her hair was different, or perhaps it was just the pink beanie she wore.

"Jennifer, Denise, Helen, Wendy," Sibel acknowledged, replacing the wine menu on the bar. "How's life been treating you girls?"

Helen whipped out her purse and presented a photograph tucked into the clear plastic pouch there, explaining in one breath, "My husband, Gerald. He works with cars. _Selling_ them. My sons, Derek and John. And this adorable cherub is my daughter, Ruby."

"Take a breath," Denise muttered.

"And what do you do?" Sibel asked Helen.

Helen's eyes flashed. Suddenly, she reeled, "I'm a housewife, bitch! Not that you'd know the meaning of that, you whoring child killer!"

Sibel sniffed. "Helen, I've got to give it to you. That was brutally honest. You go girl!" With that, she turned and walked away from the bunch of them.

"Fuckwit!" Jennifer hissed.

Sibel found a table away from Jennifer and her friends, and sat down heavily. The women moved on, bored already, it seemed. Jennifer was chatting with some guy. Dean Croft, Dent recalled. Ex-boyfriend. _Lame, Jen. He's married. He's _been married_ five times!_

He glanced back to Sibel. She'd dropped her face into her hands, so he couldn't really make out her expression.

He stood up. So, it wasn't the smartest move, but at least it would help him to blend in. He'd started getting odd looks. _So much for the businessman type_, he thought darkly.

He didn't go straight to Sibel's table and confront her; he stopped to buy coffees. Then it wouldn't look so much like he was ambushing her for her child killing activities, he thought. It'd look like they were friends.

When he placed the coffees down at the table - one _chink_, two _chink_; Hey, classy place, chips in the saucers, classy overload! - Sibel lifted her face from her hands and looked at him. "Do I know you?" she asked, wiping her eyes and smudging her eyeliner.

He pushed aside a saucer and mug, and reached to touch her cheek.

She flinched.

He felt a fleeting stab of hurt, which was exactly what he'd prescribed he should feel - _neat_ - and said, "Sibel, it's me."

Sibel sniffed, and brushed his hand from her cheek. "I don't know anyone by that name," she said. She shook her head and hitched up a sleeve to wipe her blurry eyes. "What-? Why are you here?" she said, placing her hand over his in apology. "I mean, how are you here? Shit! I don't know-"

"No. It's a business thing," he confessed.

She sniffed and picked up his hand, bringing it up to her face and leaning her cheek against it. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"Yeah."

"Oh, shit, I don't know why I'm sulking like this," she told him. "I shouldn't... I shouldn't rise to such primitive tactics, but even I'm human."

"Yes, you are," he agreed. "And, Sibel, that's a good thing. It's not a bad thing."

"You wouldn't say that if you felt like I do," she replied, then she stared, and her eyes got teary again. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "That was horrible! I'm horrible!" She let go of his hand.

"I- I wasn't sure how you took your coffee, so I... I just got it black," he said, to change the subject.

"That was nice of you," she said, not looking at him.

"Do you drink- Coffee? Do you drink coffee?"

She sniffed. "Sometimes. When I'm in the mood. I'm not."

"Sibel? Look at me."

She turned to look in the opposite direction.

"Sibel? Please."

"I look awful."

"You could never look awful, Sibel," he told her. "Not to me."

She laughed, into her hands. "That's not true," she said.

"Sibel, I mean it."

Sibel shook her head.

"Sibel, take your hands away from your face. Let me look at you."

She dropped her head onto the table, her hands still pressed to her face.

"Sibel... No. This... You make me sad. When I see you like this, it makes me sad. I want to..."

She sat up, suddenly, her eyes locked onto his. "What? What do you want?"

He stood up.

She laughed.

He walked around the table and kissed her. "I want to take you away from all of this..." he told her quietly, "from whatever makes you sad."

"Yeah right," she said. She got to her feet, and stuffed the soggy tissue in her hand into a pocket of her pants. She pulled her sleeves up to cover part of her fingers, and placed her hands on his chest. She shoved him backwards, into a wall. And grabbed a handful of his hair. Then she kissed him.

Which sort of made him melt.

But not literally.

Just inside.

Sorta.

He smiled and easily reversed their positions. His little Sibel wasn't heavy, at all. She wrapped her legs tightly around him. His hand found her thigh, then it had slid up under her cardigan. He thought about taking this to the table, before the smashing of a glass reminded him where they were.

Onlookers.

He blinked. Oh. Oh yeah. And then there was the mission.

Sibel found his ear with her lips; she bit his ear, but not to hurt him. "Take me away," she murmured.

"Sibel, people are starting to stare now," he told her.

She stopped kissing him. She let her feet find the floor, again. She balled up her fists, and pounded them against his chest. She yanked him around and pushed his back against the wall. She grabbed his hair and smacked the back of his head against the wall. She screamed nothing. Tears rushed down her face.

He touched her cheek. "Sibel, I love you."

Her eyes lost their sparkle, and got flat. She took her hand from his hair. She didn't push him again. She turned, and ran.

"Sibel!" he called after her.

He took chase.

As he passed her, Jennifer grinned. "Oh, she got you, too, did she?" she cooed. "Screwed you over? Such a pity. There goes another! Who'd have guessed. Good riddance, motherfucker. What a joke! Men!"

_Witch_, he thought. _I'll be back for you! I haven't forgotten you yet!_

Outside, he decided to take a breath, to get some perspective. He didn't really love Sibel - a _machine_ didn't love, couldn't love - and whilst the game was fun, it was nothing worth sacrificing the mission for. He turned on the spot, running a hand over his hair. What the Hell did he do now?

He put all thoughts of Sibel out of his mind, but they only returned a moment later. _Bad computer!_ he scolded mentally. _Bad machine! No more messing around! Games are fun, but that's all they are! The game is up, now snap back to it!_

_Jennifer_, he told himself. _You're here for Jennifer._ He walked back into the building, but stopped at the doors to the function room. _Why would you even say something like that? You don't _love_ Sibel! Why would you even _say_ that?_

He sighed, took a deep breath, and spent a moment watching a family eating at a nearby table in the lounge. He laughed. Compared with that lot, he had nothing to complain about, he thought. The mess he'd gotten himself into was easily handled - kill Jennifer, stay away from Sibel - the mess those kids were making of their meals was another matter.

He was about to go for the door when Jennifer came stalking out of the function room. Denise and Wendy called her back, snooty Helen didn't breathe a word, she just stuck on that snooty look, but Jennifer ignored them all.

Dent hung back for a moment, pretending to check his watch, then followed.

Jennifer walked a block and a half before she found a public toilet, then ducked inside. Why she'd walk anywhere just to use the bathroom when the hotel had had their own, was anyone's guess, but if he had to guess, he'd have guessed that it was to do with drugs. If Jennifer was to accidentally overdose on those drugs, it wouldn't be strange at all, he thought. People died of ODs all the time; badly cut drugs, filled with all sorts of deadly and noxious fillers. There wouldn't even be any reason to suspect foul play.

He warmed to the idea almost at once.

Glancing about him, he stepped into the toilet. There were no cameras; at least, none that he could see. He was fairly safe.

All he'd have to do was to wait for the coast to be clear; as soon as the toilet was empty save for the two of them, Jennifer was toast. _Oh, look_, he thought, _there's no-one about._

A loud sniff from behind him told him his luck had just run out; they weren't alone any longer. He spun about.

"This is the women's," Sibel told him, and grabbed for his hand. "It's gross in here."

He looked around him, and laughed. "Ah, so it is! What an idiot!"

Sibel sniffed again. "Are you trying to catch something?" she asked. "There are kinder ways to end it. I wouldn't wish something like that on anyone."

"You stupid bitch!" Jennifer yelled, appearing from out of one of the cubicles. "Can't you just fuck off, already! I don't even know why you're still alive! It should have been _you_ that died, not your kid."

A laugh from the doorway caught their attentions.

"Guess what?" the young woman joked. "I've come to answer all your problems."

Jennifer scoffed. "Point that gun in someone else's face, ho!" she scowled. "Do you even know who I am?"

"Who, cunt?" the young woman asked, genuinely interested now.

"Uh-hah!" Jennifer laughed falsely. "You callin' me _cunt_, bitch! Some way to talk to a sister!"

"You're no sister of mine, you stupid fuck! What is that you're wearing? Gucci?"

Jennifer gave a peel of high laughter. "No, ho, it ain't Gucci. I've just got that... zing! I can work shit you'd never even fuckin' conceive of, sister! And I make it look _good_!"

"You're a piece of lying shit, sorry lowlife slag who's husband's probably left her for his secretary!" the young woman snapped. "Suck that, whore! Now pay up before I blow your head off!" She indicated her gun in Sibel and Dent's direction. "The same goes for you two losers! Pay up, or die!"

Sibel shook her head and stepped toward the woman. "Young woman, if you fancy yourself charming or endearing, then I can safely tell you that you are neither. You present yourself as nothing more than an embarrassment and a thug and, in doing so, you sell yourself short; you shoot your future to Hell. If you're willing to let it go, then, this once, so am-"

"Shut your fucking pie hole, ho!" the young woman scowled. "You don't know shit about me! You hear me, cunt! I said, 'Nothin'!'"

"No, clearly I don't," Sibel replied calmly. "I certainly know one thing, though." She stepped toward the young woman, almost close enough to touch her. "That gun's not rea-"

The bang from the gun was loud; it echoed strangely off the walls, bouncing from broken tile to broken tile, covered in grime, each of them.

"No, bitch! It ain't real, is it? Then I guess that ain't a real bullet, either!"

"I- Okay. Okay!" Jennifer lifted her hands, then threw down her handbag. "Whatever you want, it's yours!" She kicked the handbag across the room. "Take it!"

Sibel sat down on the floor. Slowly, she took her purse from her pocket. She held it out for the young woman. "Please go," she said.

The young woman's eyes snapped to Dent. "Nuh-ah, ho."

"I don't have anything," Dent told her. "I left it all in my car. I'm afraid to say I just don't trust the neighbourhood anymore."

"Is that a fuckin' joke, man!" the young woman spat.

"No. Not at all."

"Fuckin' cunt!" she hissed. "Hand me the shit and I'll be gone."

"Just give it to her!" Jennifer hissed.

"I'm not giving her anything," Dent replied. "You hear that, girl? Nothing! Are you gonna make that a double homicide? Uh, no, you'd better make that a triple homicide, love, cos I gotta say, this one here, she might just squeal on you."

"Shut up!" Jennifer hissed. "Shut up, you stupid dog!"

Dent shrugged. "Your choice," he added.

"You want me to shoot you, you dumb fuck?" the young woman laughed.

"We've all got to die sometime, right?"

She shook her head. "I see what's happening here," she said. She tossed her chin to Jennifer. "Give me your jacket, bitch."

Dent glanced at Jennifer. "Give her your jacket," he told her, like her hesitation was a big inconvenience on him. "BTW, love, what's happening here?"

"You think I'm gonna fuck off out of here, right? So you can call the cops; maybe the... the am- Fuck, those freaks who come an' collect the dead and - like magic! - bring them back from the dead! You think one of those rich bitches'll think you're a real hero, right. Like they'll give you somethin' nice as a reward for savin' their lives from this random crazy fucking bitch!"

"Actually, that's not it at all." He sighed.

"Sure, prick!"

"They're-! They're a couple!" Jennifer piped up, taking off her jacket. "I saw them together."

"Oh, okay," the young woman replied, and pointed her gun at Sibel and shot her again.

Jennifer's eyes widened, and she tossed her jacket across the room. "She was a real bitch," she said.

"Shut up, slut!" the young woman growled. "Fuck you!" She bent down to pick up the handbag and jacket. "Fuck y-"

In the split second it took to do this, Jennifer was across the room like a flash - maybe she'd figured this chick was crazy and would waste her, too, no matter what - and kicked the young woman in the head with one of her karate moves.

The young woman swore and lunged for Jennifer, but the gun had already skittered from her hands.

Dent didn't move.

"Pick it up, you moron!" Jennifer yelled.

Both of the women leapt for the gun. Jennifer got to it first. She pointed it straight at the young woman's head, pressing against her forehead. "Run, bitch," she whispered.

The young woman ran.

Jennifer sighed, then she walked across the room and picked up both her jacket and her handbag. "Later, freaks," she said, and tossed the gun into a dirty sink and walked out, her high heels clicking loudly on the filthy floor.

"Jennifer!"

"Fuck me! What now?" She spun back around. "If you think I'm gonna thank you for saving my life, then I've got one thing to s-"

"Saving your life?" he asked, frowning. "I thought- That crazy girl, didn't she shoot you, too?" He shot her. "That's right. It's coming back to me, now. Then... then she just ran away. I guess there might have been a loud noise from outside that startled her. A car backfiring. Maybe... Something like that. And she just... hightailed it. It's really too bad, too. Before you got covered in blood, you were kinda cute."

He tucked the gun into the back of his pants, and stepped around her. He'd have to dispose of the thing as soon as possible. "You know what? Why fucking bother? I can think of a million other things I'd rather do that talk to some dumb shit cops. Later, ladies."

He paused in the door - somehow, in the short time they'd been holed up in that crappy toilet, it had gotten dark outside - and walked out.


	5. Chapter 5

It hadn't yet grown light when he woke. He'd gotten the job done and gotten rid of the gun; he supposed he should have let it go after that. So what was the problem?

He sat up, then lay back down. He closed his eyes. He was going to sleep, he decided. He opened his eyes, annoyed. The dark pressed in.

Then it was Sibel's hair, as dark as midnight.

He coughed and struggled into a sitting position, reaching for the light. Light flooded the room.

He was alone.

He sighed.

_Go to sleep_, he told himself. He needed the downtime.

He switched off the night and lay back down, closing his eyes more easily this time. It wasn't long before that sleep came.

* * *

"Do you really mean that?"

Sibel sat beside him in a dirty bus stop, covered in graffiti that was by no means cute, nor tame. She was wearing black boots and playing with one of her shoelaces, the one with the bowtie pattern, not the bright orange one.

"Did you know that black boxes are actually orange? Usually. It's so they can be found after an accident. Did you know that?"

He said nothing.

She straightened. The bench they sat on was really hard. It sucked, pretty much. "I didn't, either. I saw it on television yesterday."

Which just proved his point that television was a pointless exercise, he thought. "Do I mean what?" he asked finally.

"Do you love me?"

He frowned. He hadn't- Then he remembered. Yes he had.

Sibel smiled and waved a hand at him. "That's cool! I know you were only joking! Since when did R2D2 ever have feelings, or C3P0? I get it. You just felt left out, different. Like a freak. You thought, maybe, just for a little while, it'd be cool to pretend like you weren't different at all."

He stared at her as though she was mad. She didn't know anything about him, for fuck sake!

She sighed heavily and blood poured out of the corner of her mouth, spilling over her chin. She opened her jacket and waved the two sides about a bit, like she was hot. Underneath, her yellow cardigan was dark with blood. Her hands were covered in blood, now, too. She wiped her nose on her hand, smearing blood on her face.

If she'd been a vampire, she'd have been something to see, alright.

She caught the look of disgust on his face. "I look bad right?" She laughed, and more blood tumbled out of her mouth. "That's okay, you don't have to say anything; you don't have to say anything nice. I can see what you're thinking; I can see it in your eyes. 'What was I ever doing with someone like you, you ugly, pitiful cow?' Or maybe that should be _something_? Human, after all."

The light from the street light nearby flickered.

Sibel sighed, and did her jacket back up, button by bloody button. Her fingers slipped a few times with all the blood, but she kept at it. "I'd really say I wished you a good life, but then I'd be talking nonsense. You're not alive, are you?" She laughed, and the light finally failed.

A moment later, the light returned. But Sibel was nowhere to be seen.


End file.
